


The Complete Works of d_w_1967

by violue



Series: Hazelnut Valley [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bottom Castiel, F/F, Fan Fiction about Fan Fiction, Fluff, M/M, Top Dean, brief description of lesbian erotica, this story is hard to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:41:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8982244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: Castiel finds Dean's Sheriffs Hunting Evil fan fiction... and he reads it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place before the epilogue of the main story. :)
> 
> Thanks to Dani and Kris for the once-overs ❤

**((December 2015))**

 

It’s snowing, which it sometimes does at this time of year in Oregon. Castiel had been looking forward to this part of living in the Pacific Northwest; he had visions of the gray skies, the big flakes of snow, and gazing out the window, curled up on his new couch with a big mug of hot chocolate clasped in his hands. It took a while to get to this point, apparently it _rains_ more than it snows in the winter, but now the snow is here, and… it’s a bit inconvenient.

Yesterday the power was out for eight hours, which Castiel spent on his bed, alone and huddled in a cocoon of blankets, coats, and towels. The roads aren’t plowed often enough, and without snow chains for his tires, driving from his house even just to Hazelnut Valley is mildly terrifying. The Christmas decorations Castiel ordered have been waylaid by the weather both here and where they’re distributed from, and it looks like they won’t arrive until _after_ Christmas. That’s what he gets for buying decorations online, according to Dean. And Jo. And Crowley.

Oh well, at least Castiel will have brand new, probably unopened decorations for next year. He’ll put them up early, too. As soon as December first hits, he’ll put all the decorations up and belatedly get his money’s worth.

But that’s next year. Right _now,_ Castiel is bored, naturally. It’s the middle of the day, and everyone he knows is at work. He’s at that odd spot he finds himself in from time to time; between books and restless. It happened less back in California, because it took Castiel so long to write, by the time he had finished one book he frequently had a plan for the next. Right now he has an _idea_ for his next book, but not really a plan. He brainstorms frequently, putting ideas here and there. Maybe an outline for a scene, maybe a conversation. It’s in this restless period that his writing gets less linear and more piecemeal, but he always makes it work in the end.

Except for his book with the haunted kidney, that was just abysmal.

Half of what he’s brainstorming is for Sheriffs Hunting Evil book twelve, half of it is for the first book of what will be a companion series. Castiel hasn’t settled on a title for the series yet… he likes Wandering Daughters, but he’s not sure.

Right at this moment though, Castiel isn’t doing any brainstorming. He’s not writing lists of angel names, or scribbling out arguments between Jody and Donna over who gets to drive, or deciding if Claire and Alex would carry guns. He’s not even watching the snow fall onto the vast Oregon forest just outside his bedroom window.

He’s in his slightly too large home, in his bed, in a pair of his boyfriend’s underwear, clicking through said boyfriend’s infrequently updated Facebook account. Dean hasn’t updated the account in months; his relationship status is still listed as single, and the most recent item is a post from July that reads “It is too hot and too dry for you fuckers to be using fireworks in the fucking woods. IT’S NOT EVEN DARK YET, ASSHOLES.” There are eight comments, all from Jo and Sam, all trying to convince Dean to come to a barbecue at Bobby’s. Dean never responded, and Castiel has to assume he never showed at the barbecue. Maybe next year. Dean’s already opening up quite a bit, socially. On Thanksgiving, Dean had Castiel, Sam, Madison, and Charlie over for dinner, and tomorrow they’re supposed to go to the community center for a Christmas Eve party, which Castiel is looking forward to because Dean says Ellen is bringing eggnog made from scratch.

He clicks through Dean’s profile, idly scratching at his bare chest. The heat is on upstairs; too high, but Castiel is feeling lazy so instead of turning the heat down he’s just been shedding clothes. There are pictures he hasn’t seen before on Dean’s profile, but not many; Dean really doesn’t use this page much. Castiel clicks on the about page, most of it isn’t filled out. It lists Dean’s e-mail address though; d_w_1967@hotmail.com. Wow, Hotmail. Castiel wonders how old this e-mail address is, if it even gets used. Out of sheer boredom, Castiel plugs “d_w_1967” into his search engine, wondering if Dean maybe has other social media sites and uses the same name for everything like Gabriel (KielbasaErotica69). It’s hard to imagine Dean on Twitter, but who knows. Not much comes up when Castiel searches the username; some postings to a Star Wars message board, a link to Dean’s own Facebook page, and oh… d_w_1967 is a username on Fan Fiction Fulcrum, a fan fiction sharing website.

He clicks the profile, because he _has_ to, and sees that d_w_1967 has posted eight stories. The longest one is eleven thousand words long, and the most recent one was posted just over five years ago. All eight stories are about Sheriffs Hunting Evil, and some of them are rated Adult... which is amusing because Castiel recalls Dean saying his fan fiction was _not_ explicit.

His fingers drum against the keys of his laptop as he stares at the screen, considering. Castiel makes it a rule not to read fan fiction for his stories. Lawyers advise against it, one never knows if an idea will take root in their mind and they’ll accidentally plagiarize an author… or maybe they’ll find an idea that’s so good they end up cursing themselves for not having it and not being able to use it.

Still, Castiel is curious, and no one has to know.

He reads one of the G-rated stories, then another, then another.

Dean’s prose isn’t the most elegant, but he has a firm grasp of Castiel’s characters, which pleases Castiel greatly. Dean’s focus seems to be writing moments between the scenes; things that could have happened in Castiel’s stories, between chapters or between books, but didn’t. Some of the items have been a bit mucked by Castiel’s later continuity; a conversation about siblings that made sense for the year it was written, but no longer fits after the events of book eight, things like that. It’s fascinating, reading Dean’s ideas for the characters, and he almost feels bad that later installments of the series rendered some of these ideas moot.

It’s not long before Castiel runs out of “work safe” stories, and he eyes the two with the adult rating.

He shouldn’t.

It’s bad enough he’s reading Dean’s stories without clearing it with him, surely Dean would have reservations about Castiel reading his _erotica._

Castiel drums his fingers on the keyboard again. Five, ten, thirty seconds pass.

He clicks the adult rated story.

And reads.

And about a thousand words in, he finds himself getting aroused.

Castiel is gay. While he can appreciate a beautiful woman, he’s not sexually attracted to them. It should stand to reason that reading about two women exploring each other in a hotel room would not arouse him much, but apparently that’s what’s happening. Castiel is reading about two female characters, _his_ female characters in throes of passion, and he is _into it._

This is as unexpected as it is confusing, and it’s _very_ confusing. Is it perhaps somehow narcissistic to be turned on by characters he himself created? He’s giving this some deep consideration when he hears “hey” from the doorway to his bedroom. He yelps, slamming his laptop shut and looking up at the visitor.

“Dean!” he squeaks. “What are you doing here?!”

Dean has a key to Castiel’s house, because Castiel gave him a key three weeks after the house became his. Why _wouldn’t_ Castiel give him a key? It never seemed like something to worry about until this exact second.

“Uh… snow’s knocked the power out on my part of the highway, figured I’d close early,” Dean says, eyebrows high. “Were you looking at porn just now?”

Castiel doesn’t know how to answer that. That answer is certainly less embarrassing than the truth, but he’d rather not lie to Dean.

“I… sort of,” he tries.

Dean leans against the door frame, grinning. He’s wearing a holiday scarf that suddenly surfaced a week ago. It’s green, the knit too close to be be handmade. It’s patterned with snowflakes and smiling snowmen, white like the soft fringe on the edges. Dean hasn’t explained the scarf, and Castiel hasn’t asked, but he’s quite curious.

Unfortunately, Dean is curious too. “Can I see?” Dean asks, gesturing at Castiel’s laptop.

Castiel shakes his head vigorously.

Dean pouts, and it’s this cute, sexy, _deliberate_ thing. Castiel is done for. He sighs, slowly opening his laptop up as Dean comes over, tossing his jacket on the floor as he goes. He plops down on the bed, and the movement causes the barest amount of friction as the warm laptop jostles in Castiel’s lap. Dean leans forward, enough that Castiel can’t see his expression when he sees what’s on the screen.

“Dude, is this… this _is,_ how did you— why are you— _dude._ ” Castiel is having trouble interpreting the tone in Dean’s voice; it’s confused, it’s indignant, it’s agitated, it’s a lot of things.

“I apologize, Dean, I got carried away on a web search, and I just... I’ve never read anything you wrote before, and I got so terribly curious.”

Dean yanks the laptop away from Castiel, hand brushing against Castiel’s downright shameful erection in the process.

Dean freezes.

Castiel freezes.

Dean sets the laptop on the bed and looks down at Castiel’s crotch. “Well that’s interesting,” he says, traces of upset immediately erased from his expression.

It’s a little silly, but Castiel grabs his blanket and pulls it up over his lap. “Are you willing to pretend none of this happened?”

Dean seems to consider this for a moment. “On the one hand, kind of… because the only thing more horrifying than my boyfriend finding my fan fiction is my favorite author fucking finding my fan fiction, but on the other hand, you’re _hard,_ Cas.”

“I’m not _hard,_ ” Castiel insists, “I might be on my way to that state, but let’s not exaggerate the situation, Dean.”

“You’re not getting out of this on a technicality,” Dean says, grinning wide.

“Must you look so gleeful?”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Dean says. He gets to his feet so he can kick off the filthy, wet boots he wore all the way into Castiel’s room and then he’s pulling the blanket away and straddling Castiel’s lap. “I’m sure lots of gay guys get off to lesbian sex scenes in fan fiction.”

Castiel has no idea if Dean is joking or not. “It’s not the characters,” he admits, “it’s… you.”

“What’s me?” Dean says, rocking against Castiel’s erection.

“I’m aroused because the thought of you writing sexual scenes is arousing.”

“Yeah? That gets you off?" Dean pauses. "Is it still arousing if I tell you I wrote that one while eating an entire pizza?”

“That depends,” Castiel says, reaching forward to grab onto Dean’s ass, “what kind of pizza was it?”

“Dude, it was years ago, I don’t remember what _kind_ of pizza it was.”

“No pineapple?”

“Definitely no pineapple.”

“Then it’s still arousing,” Castiel says, rubbing up against Dean.

They rut against each other for over a minute, breaths a little shallow.

“So, uh… what’d you think?”

Castiel’s eyebrows raise. “Oh no, I’m not falling into that trap.”

“It’s not a _trap_.”

“It’s a trap whether you know it or not.”

Dean furrows his eyebrows. “So it was bad.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “See, this is a trap. I will tell you one thing, and that’s it.”

“Fine,” Dean says, sounding eager.

“I enjoyed what I read. That’s it, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Well how much did you read? How _many_ did you read?”

“That’s all I’m saying, Dean,” Castiel says sternly. Dean’s hips twitch in Castiel’s lap, and Dean bites his lower lip.

“Alright, alright. You know I’m letting you off easy here,” Dean says. “I mean you were skulking around my Fulcrum page without even asking.”

Castiel nods solemnly. “I _am_ sorry for letting my curiosity get the better of me, Dean.”

Dean grins. “Sorry you got caught, you mean.”

“ _Obviously_.”

“Well? How are you gonna make it up to me, Cas?”

 

 

*

 

 

The sun sets early this time of year, so it’s already nearly dark out. There’s just enough light left for Castiel to see the large flakes of snow still falling from the sky when he can focus enough to open his eyes. Dean has him pressed up against the glass doors leading to the back porch. The door is _cold,_ but apparently not cold enough to dull Castiel’s erection. If some lost traveller or hungry deer were to wander by the door, they’d be able to see everything. _Everything._ Castiel’s naked body pressed against the icy glass, his wrists pinned just over his head by one of Dean’s hands, Dean driving into him from behind.

Dean’s body is warm, his left hand gripping Castiel’s hip. The soft, delirious sounds of pleasure he makes have Castiel shivering in a way the cold glass doesn’t.

“Am I forgiven yet?” Castiel mutters, adrenaline zipping through him at every push of Dean’s hips.

“I’m gonna be honest,” Dean pants, sweaty palm skimming to the front of Castiel’s body, wrapping around his cock, “I forgave you pretty much instantly, Cas.”

Castiel grins, eyes closing as his forehead rests against the glass. “I knew it.”

 

 

*

 

“Do you suppose your cats are tearing up your home?” Castiel asks, yawning. They’re tangled together on the couch, gazing at the absolutely filthy glass door through half-lidded eyes.

“I stopped by and fed them, so there’s a _chance_ they’re not ripping my shit apart.”

Dean’s been complaining that the cats have been hanging out in the house more since winter started, sometimes spending full days inside. He grouses about the noise, and having to deal with a litter box, and getting fur all over everything, but Castiel knows he loves having them around.

“Don’t worry, Spring is only a few months away, then they’ll be out in the woods again,” Castiel says, nuzzling up against Dean’s jaw so Dean won’t see his smirk. Dean sort of grunts in response. Sometimes his silly posturing is for the sake of absolutely no one, and Castiel loves him for it.

“Your door looks fucking gross,” Dean says after a minute, nudging Castiel with his elbow.

“I’ll admit sex against my door wasn’t quite what I had in mind when I saw the house, but I’m glad inspiration struck you.”

“It sure did,” Dean says, “I’m happy we can _inspire_ each other.” He nudges Castiel with his elbow again, as though Castiel might have missed the obvious meaning or the extreme emphasis in Dean’s voice.

“You really do inspire me,” Castiel mutters, sleepy. The heat isn’t on in this room, and the chill is about the only thing keeping him awake right now.

“Yeah,” Dean says, smiling when Castiel’s fingers trace over the tattoo on Dean’s chest; that odd reminder that Castiel was in Dean’s life long before he even knew there _was_ a Dean. “Right back at you.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays!


End file.
